


Oranges

by Nia (Lingwiloke)



Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant
Genre: Angst, Crielle's parenting skills, Fluff... sort of, Gwyn's childhood, I don't know how to summarise this thing, I hate the ending of this so much, I've rewritten it like 12743~ times and I still don't like it, M/M, Oranges, Too many Oranges, that's a warning in itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/pseuds/Nia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwyn remembers his childhood, and looks into the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oranges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_poignant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/gifts).



> This was inspired by the brilliant not_poignant's Fae Tales Verse - but I suppose if you've made it here you probably know that already...
> 
> Many thanks to Tacopony for the beta! :D

_Smell_

His breath escapes his mouth in white gusts in the cold air and it has begun snowing again. He watches the snowflakes sail down and settle on the tree branches, the frozen ground, the broken fence in front of him. The forest is silent except for the sound of his breathing, and the distant rumble when a tree branch gives under the snow’s weight and sends its burden to the earth in a cascade of powdery white. Gwyn shuffles his feet and pushes his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, the small bag on his back bumping against his elbow with the motion.  
  
He has brought oranges. Their smell still clings to his gloves as he raises a hand to his head to brush a stray curl of hair out of his eyes, and then rubs at his nose to warm it. They will probably be hungry, if they come back here. It is a harsh winter, and hunger is what drove them here the last time. He tells himself that that is the only reason he is standing here: Because he does not want to see two young waterhorses die, neither of hunger nor by the jaws of his father’s dogs, who keep a merciless watch over the An-Fnwy property. He tells himself he is not hoping for a pair of green eyes widening in recognition, and a sly grin in greeting, as they remember who helped them the last time.  
He is not.  
  
The sounds of distant barking startle him out of his musings: Lludd is on his way home. He closes his eyes briefly. He needs to go, he has stayed too long already. He will need to hurry, and hope that he can sneak into the house unseen before anyone notices he is missing. When he opens his eyes again, the space beyond the fence is still empty, and the only trails left in the snow are his own, quickly being erased by the falling snow. He casts a last, longing glance beyond the fence – then turns resolutely and hurries back to the house, the early evening gloom swallowing up his receding figure.

 

_Taste_

Mafydd kisses him in the orange grove. It is the first time Gwyn has ever done something like that, and it is strange and exciting that he is breathless with it.  
  
Afterwards, lying back in his bed, he can still feel Mafydd’s lips on his own, can still taste orange juice and salt and something else that is uniquely Mafydd. The thought sends a shiver down his spine and heat into his cheeks, and makes a liquid warmth pool low in his belly. He feels as if something has been awakened inside him, something raw and new and wonderful. Something that makes him feel _alive._

 

_Aftertaste_

Gwyn stares down at his plate, at the last slice of orange sitting innocently at the plate’s edge. Nausea sits like a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach and his throat feels like something nasty is just waiting to crawl up and suffocate him.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at his mother.  
  
Crielle watches him, her eyes glittering dangerously.  
  
Quickly, he averts his gaze, and shoves the orange piece in his mouth frightened of what will happen if she decides watching him struggle with himself is not entertaining enough anymore. Instantly, his mouth is flooded with saliva, and he fights to suppress the urge to gag. The orange is perfect; juicy and rich in flavour, just the right mixture of sweetness and tartness. But in his mouth, it somehow seems to transform into blood and so much dead flesh, metallic and salty and sickening, and in his mind he can hear Mafydd, Mafydd crying, begging, and then -  
  
But Crielle is watching him, and he grits his teeth and shoves it all down into the darkest corner of his mind, and swallows.  
  
She smiles benignly. “Darling, you must be so hungry after all that training today. Here, have another one.”

 

_Touch_

The faint smell of orange blossoms seems to follow him on his way down the path, and a heavy sadness fills his chest, a bitter taste in his mouth, as if he has bitten on a seed. Somehow, though, it is a clean sort of bitterness, that reminds him of medicine; unpleasant, but eventually cleansing. And then he realises with a vague sense of surprise, that there is no guilt – only this heavy, wet sadness, that surrounds him like a damp grey cloak, but does not suffocate him anymore.  
  
It has been a long time since he was kissed for the first time under the orange trees he has just left behind, and even longer since he was that boy waiting at the broken fenceline, hoping for something that he could not even truly name. And this time, when he looks out beyond the boundaries of what was once his family’s estate, Augus is there, waiting for him. Augus – the Each Uisge, Unseelie waterhorse, ex-king, ex-captive and at the same time the most infuriating and the most wonderful person he knows – is there, for _him_ , Gwyn ap Nudd. A small smirk plays on his lips as he watches Gwyn through half-lidded eyes, his stance confident and at ease.  
  
Refusing to look back, Gwyn takes a deep breath, and steps through the gates to Augus’ side. And before he can let himself think too much, before he can let himself worry and doubt again, he places his hands firmly on Augus’ shoulders, leans forward, and kisses him.


End file.
